The Perfect Gift
by Sarah Crawford
Summary: Leroux based. Erik goes out to purchase a wedding present for Christine that will express his tragic love for her one last time. The final copy of a oneshot written for the fourth PFN morbidity contest, eighth place and winner of the morbidity award.


Summary: Leroux based. Erik goes out to purchase a wedding present for Christine that will express his tragic love for her one last time. This story is the final copy of a one-shot written for the fourth PFN morbidity writing contest. It came in as a tie for eighth place and was given the morbidity award.

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters in it. They belong to Gaston Leroux. Any similarities between this story and the wonderfully morbid _The Perfect Rose_ by Kat097 (including the titles) are purely accidental. Even the author did not mention any similarities between my story and hers in her review on PFN, although a few other authors did. _The Perfect Gift_ was, however, inspired by _Beautiful Things_ by CrawfordsBiscuits and a chapter of _Love of the Most Exquisite Kind_ by Scorpion called "The Parcel." Both are wonderful stories and I would recommend that you all read them.

A/N: A big thank you to Slina for being my betta on this story. Any remaining errors are mine alone.

**The Perfect Gift**

The weather seemed ideal that morning. At least Erik thought to himself that it could not have been more fitting for the occasion. Yes, it was perfect. Everything was perfect today. A mixture of sleet and heavy rain poured from dark clouds overhead and the frigid wind whipped unmercifully around the few Parisians who had ventured from their warm homes on that cold and dreary day. They were looking at him strangely, and he did not know why. He was wearing his new mask after all, the mask that made him look like anybody else. Why then were they all staring? Did they know? No, they could not possibly know where he was going. At least the weather had kept most of the people indoors. It would not do for them to be out and about. Not today, for today was a very special day. Christine and her young man would be married in a week, and her present must be sent off today if it were to reach her in time. So it was today that Erik ventured out into the light one last time to purchase it. She would have the perfect gift, Erik would see to that: the most beautiful present that money could buy.

A particularly harsh gust of wind startled him out of his thoughts. One skeletal hand extended from its place beneath the black cloak, clutching the comfortingly warm material tighter around his wasted form. Just a bit further and he would be there. But oh, it was so very cold… Still, he must go on. This was all for Christine. Erik smiled at the thought of her, and then he felt carefully in his pocket to make certain that the letter was still there. It was. How happy his dear little Christine would be when she received his letter and the present! After all, she loved beautiful things.

After what seemed like hours, he came to a small brick building. The walls were stained with age-old soot and all of the windows were shuttered, save one lone window on the second floor that was filled with an eerie sort of light. Erik stared at it for a moment, taking in the cold, unwelcoming sight. Perhaps he should get her another gift, something simpler… but no. Christine must have the perfect gift and he had found it for her. There was no turning back now, as all of the arrangements had been made. The advertisement was to be published in the Époque announcing his death. Christine would read it and she would come back to find his body just where he had told her, and she would be happy. But of course Erik must be dead for her to bury him. First he must give her his most beautiful possession, and he must buy it now.

Gathering his last bit of strength, Erik pressed forward against the wind, leaning heavily upon his walking stick as he entered the building and proceeded to climb the narrow staircase. It would not be long now. He must keep in mind what he was doing for Christine. The happiness that he would bring her on that very special day of her wedding was worth any amount of suffering he might undertake.

At last, he reached the small room at the top of the stairs. A candle burned on a wooden table, and beside the table a chair beckoned to him. Erik fell gratefully into the chair, sinking back against its soft cushions and breathing a sigh of exhaustion. The room appeared to be deserted, but he knew that he would not be alone for long. And so he waited, and waited. He checked his pocket watch, staring pensively at it. The minutes ticked slowly away, ever so slowly. It seemed that his waiting would never end. Wearily, his eyes wandered to the door on the opposite side of the room. Time seemed to freeze as he waited for that door to open. It was time now. Surely it was time.

Impatient, Erik tapped his long, bony fingers in a reoccurring rhythm on the arm of the chair, the sound echoing in the nearly empty room. It had taken quite a bit of searching, but at last he had found a man unscrupulous enough to help him provide Christine with the perfect wedding gift. Now he was here—no turning back—and the man was keeping him in such suspense. _Why not get it over with?_ he thought to himself. _Doesn't the man know better than to try Erik's patience?_

At long last the door creaked open, revealing a dumpy man wearing a worn gray suit and tiny spectacles. He acknowledged his visitor with only a stare, running the fingers of one hand through his thick, grease-ridden hair. And then he spoke:

"Ah, Monsieur Erik, you've returned." The man's voice was gruff, laced with feigned affability. He had two boxes with him, and he placed them side-by-side on the table for display. "I take it you have made your decision?"

Erik stared at the boxes fixedly, never once removing his sight from them. Even the boxes were lovely, he thought, but which one was he to choose? "No Monsieur," he admitted, as he continued the nervous drumming of his long fingers. "I have made no choice."

The man had a knife in his hands now, and he was admiring it in the dim light. As the man toyed with the knife he grinned in a most sinister manner. Erik could see the light glinting off both the man's yellowed teeth and the smooth, silver blade. The sight chilled him, yet somehow it was a welcoming prospect. Slashing… blood… darkness… light… release… But death would come soon enough. First he must choose a gift for Christine.

For a long time, he studied the two boxes on the table before him, one large and one small. Then he shook his head slowly. "Erik cannot choose between them." His voice was distant and his eyes vacant. "You see, they would both make Christine so very happy. She loves pretty things. Which one is prettier? Tell Erik which one to choose?"

"Perhaps you do not have to choose, Monsieur," the man said with a broadening smile. "You may give her both if you like… that is for a small charge added to your bill."

Erik's eyes lit up at this sudden revelation. Unfaltering, he reached within his cloak and withdrew an envelope, which he flung uncaringly on to the table, spilling out the two hundred and forty thousand francs it contained.

"Yes, both…"

* * *

Christine eyed the delivery curiously. Those two strange boxes had arrived only that morning, and there was a note with them. Mamma Valerius had said they were from Paris. Now that Christine had returned from shopping, she would have to open them right away. The boxes were so pretty with their golden wrapping and silver bows that she simply could not wait until Raoul returned to know what was inside them. But of course she should read the letter first; it was only proper.

Taking a seat at her dressing table she retrieved the letter, eagerly tearing away the envelope. Her hands began to tremble as the paper unfolded between her fingers. She knew that writing all too well, with its scrawling red letters. It was from Erik.

_Dearest Christine,_

_I love you, and again I love you! With all of my breath I cannot express in words my love for you, my darling angel. I call you my angel because you see, although I tried to be an angel for you, it is really you who have saved me. You have shown me what it is to love, and to be loved. I know now that you do not love me as I love you, but still I like to think that in some small way you love me for myself. But it does not matter if you do not, for you have already given me all the happiness the world has to offer._

_Oh Christine, my love for you has grown even broader since I sent you away with your young man, and it is my greatest wish that you should be happy with your new life. I wish too that I could see you now, but I know that it would only distress you to see your poor Erik's face. Please know that I wish you all of the happiness in the world. I send you all of my love, and with it one last feeble attempt to display that love to you. I have bought you a wedding present, my dear. Even now as I write I cannot decide which gift would be the best, but I will find the perfect gift for you. It must be perfect, Christine. It will be the most beautiful thing that I own, and I will give it to you. You have my music and my love forever. I am yours until the day that I die, and even in death I fear that I will still love you. If I meet the Angel of Music in heaven, then I promise I will send him down to you. Until then, accept this gift as a token of my love._

_Your obedient slave in soul and in body,_

_Erik_

There were tears streaming from her eyes well before she had finished reading. Christine could not help but pity him even now. She cried for him, repeating again and again: "Poor Erik… Poor, poor Erik!"

And then suddenly, she remembered the gift. Erik would want her to open the present. Drying her eyes on a frilly sleeve, she reached for the smaller of the two boxes. Christine was careful not to rip the bow as she removed it, and she even folded the paper neatly. Inside the box was a layer of black velvet. The velvet was sticking to something, whatever it was that Erik had meant to give her. This only excited her curiosity. She managed to peel the material back at last, using her fingernails. Gasping, Christine leapt to her feet, one hand coming swiftly to her throat. The present was small, two tiny folds of flesh meeting together at either end and surrounded by protective cartilage. She recognized the shape at once from some drawings that Erik had shown her in one of their lessons in the fortnight she spent in his home. His larynx… his vocal cords.

Christine backed away, laying on her bed and closing her eyes as tightly as possible. She felt faint. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, and she thought that surely she would vomit. But somehow, a short time later, her inquisitiveness drew her back to the second box.

She closed the first present hastily and then opened the larger box as quickly as she could, taking no care with its wrappings. Oddly enough, the same bit of black velvet covered this gift. Taking a deep breath, Christine ignored her growing sense of foreboding and pulled the fabric aside. Her chest tightened, and this time she backed away with a scream. Although she could not remember touching it, this present had left something on her hands, something thick… something red… something she could not seem to rid her hands of no matter how many times she wiped them on the bedclothes. Blood. Erik had not lied when he said that he had given her his music and his love forever. Inside the velvety folds lay an even more dreadful gift: Erik's heart.


End file.
